Aftershock
by TheGirlWithTheDinosaurTattoo
Summary: Aftershock is a direct sequel to my first story, Alone. AU prequel to my Winchester Ranch series: What happened after Grace and Serra lose everything they know? *It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.*
1. Chapter 1

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.** **

Chapter 1

Grace

The only descriptor for the constant emptiness that I now felt was numb. Nothing affected me anymore. I went through the motions; eating, drinking, showering, but I didn't feel any of it. It had been two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours since we found Emery dead on the floor of my parent's kitchen. It had been two weeks, three days and sixteen hours since my entire world came crashing down around me and the only thing I knew how to do was to keep breathing.

Serra was worse off. She had virtually disappeared from me. If she went to school, she skipped classes and drove off by herself, not coming home until late into the night, usually finding her way into my bedroom to lie next to me in bed. I pretended to ignore the hour, usually turning and opening my arms to my sister's hug. We hadn't cried since we had discovered her, both feeling like we had no more tears to shed.

My sister Serendipity and I had experienced our share of death. Our mother had been killed when I was ten and Serra was five, our father had been murdered by a demon while we watched, only two weeks, six days, and twenty hours ago, and now, our pseudo-mother had been taken from us as well. We had literally no one left.

I always imagined that I would grow up to be something other than a hunter, but now that I was twenty, living with my sister in our parents' house, struggling simply to put food on the table, I knew that this was probably as far as I would ever make it. A waitress with a set of very deadly skills, trained from infancy to destroy anything that might go bump in the night. My sister was in much the same boat: a fifteen-year-old high schooler with no dreams, no goals. We just hoped to live to see the holidays.

Not that they would mean anything this year. It's not like we had anyone to celebrate with.

I glanced at the clock, waiting for Serra to walk into my bedroom, just as she had so many times before, but it was close to two in the morning. If she were coming home tonight, she would have already.

I tried my best to ignore the feeling of loneliness that tried to creep up my throat. I knew that I didn't have any tears to shed, so I did my best to close my eyes and push the emptiness away. I had a double shift tomorrow and if I didn't want to lose my job on top of everything else, I would have to be able to hold it together.


	2. Chapter 2

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.** **

Chapter 2

Serra

Grace lays awake every night waiting for me to come home. I don't know where she thinks I go, but I'm never too far away. Most nights, I just park on the back side of the neighborhood, next to the blue house on the end where that creep tow truck driver lives because I can see Grace's bedroom light when it's on. It's comforting to know that she's waiting for me.

I don't feel anything anymore. I'm completely numb to the outside world and there isn't a minute that goes by that I don't wonder why I am still breathing. It just seems too hard and it doesn't really seem worth it. Reaching my hand out to my twin .45s, I try to feel the cold metal, the slick of the oil or the depth of the engraving that flourishes across the barrels. I turned my head, just to make sure I was making contact, and sighed heavily when I saw that my hand rested on the mother-of-pearl grip. My fingers felt nothing.

I had always pitied the girls at my high school in the grips of teenaged hormones and emotions, thinking that they had nothing to live for, nothing to hold on to. I remembered laughing it off, thinking that they were complete fucking idiots, not wanting to wake up the next day and see the possibility that was before them.

It turns out that now I'm one of them.

I don't know how much Grace has heard, gathering thoughts from my memories every time we made physical contact, but I knew that if she heard me thinking what I was thinking right now, she would probably have a thing or two to say about it.

My gun was heavy, but it felt right in my hands. As I turned it over in my lap, I replayed the many scenes in my head of using it to protect my family against monsters like vampires, werewolves, shape shifters and djinn. More recently, we had dealt with demons and they were the worst; using human meat suits to walk among us. You shoot the demon, you kill the meat suit and the black smoke comes flying out of their mouths to pick another victim. Or, my personal favorite, they ride around in the corpse, holding it together with whatever black magic powers they have. When they finally decide to dump the body they used, usually it was only about an hour before that poor soul started to stink.

Clicking the safety off, I pressed the clip release and checked to see how many rounds were still loaded in my gun. I had a full clip, but really, it didn't matter. I only needed one.

Minutes seemed to drag on as I stared at the weapon in my lap. In the silence of my car, I could hear the summer wind as it whipped through the wheat fields and trees that surrounded me. I closed my eyes, concentrating on my senses and could hear the faintest of growls on the wind.

I tried to dismiss it, doing my best to stay focused on the issues at hand, but no matter what I did to refocus my attention; it drifted again to the noises coming from the south. I fought the surge of adrenaline that coursed through my blood, ready for the new fight that may or may not be coming and finally resigning to my instincts; I rolled down the window and listened hard.

It was most likely a pack of dogs, close to feral after years of being on farmland. Rolling my eyes at my inability to focus, I rolled my window back up and took a deep breath.

There was nothing remotely funny about the situation I had myself in, sitting on the side of the road, in my own neighborhood, a block away from my house with two loaded guns, completely intending to kill myself, but as I stared at the gun in my hand, I shook my head and started to laugh. If Grace saw me, she would blow a gasket, lecturing me on how there is always something to live for, that we still had each other and that we had a job to do: survive. I would be a disappointment for entertaining the idea of taking my own life and the idea seemed hilarious.

I laughed harder, thinking of all the times we fought so hard to live, through the monster attacks and the demon chases. Through the apocalyptic tornadoes and the days without food. I laughed because this was suddenly the worst possible idea I had ever come up with and I have come up with some pretty terrible ideas.

I set my gun down again on the passenger seat and wiped the tears that had come to my eyes away with the palms of my hands, still shaking from laughter. I sighed and shook my head and glanced to the window where I knew my sister lay sleeping. Seeing my own reflection in the glass, I rolled my eyes, turning the key in my ignition and chuckling to myself once more.

"Okay, low point," I said to myself as I threw my Acura in gear and sped off down the street.

A few minutes later, I had pulled into the driveway next to my sister's bright red Toyota and silently let myself into the house. Tiptoeing up the steps, I made my way towards the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes through the hallway. As I stood under the hot water, I peeled away the last of the depression that clung to me and promised myself that I would never get that far gone again.

I had shit to do.


	3. Chapter 3

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.** **

Chapter 3

Grace

Serra crept up the steps later than usual that night and I knew that she had defeated whatever internal demons she had been battling for the last two weeks. The thoughts and feelings that I had seen in her memories in the last few days had been full of darkness and despair and I knew that nothing I said to her would change her mind. It had to be her idea. If I fought her on anything, no matter what it was, she would push harder, the opposite way. I decided the best option was to wait her out, to comfort her when she asked for it, and to do everything I could to avoid the fact that I had seen her desire to do the unthinkable. It wasn't healthy, I knew, but it was better than her running from me completely, giving in to her fifteen-year-old brain, and hating me with every fiber of her being, just because we were the only ones left.

Listening to the shower start, I sighed to myself, knowing that because she was home, she had come to grips with what she needed to. We would be able to begin to heal tomorrow morning.

…

Day came with a vengeance, the summer breeze blowing into my bedroom window, ruffling the curtains and blinding me with sunshine. I rolled to my side, trying to bury my face in the pillow, but the fight was over before it began. Once I was awake, I tended to stay awake, no matter the time or reason for consciousness. Sighing, I flipped to my back, lying my arm over my face, trying to come to grips that it was a beautiful day.

Sitting up, I glanced outside at the birds in the oak tree in the back of our property. I made a face, rubbing my eyes, and shook my head. "Fuck you, too," I whispered, dragging myself to my feet. I struggled to pull on shorts and wrapped my hair into a bun at the top of my head and stared into the mirror that hung above my dresser. My eyes were bloodshot and the bags that had started weeks ago had a new depth of purple. Shaking my head, I glanced at the photo of my parents and quietly said, "Three weeks, four hours." I opened my phone and stared at the list of missed calls and voicemails throughout the day yesterday, noticing that two of the numbers listed were from Bobby Singer, that man that Daddy knew. There were other numbers listed, but I had no idea who any of them belonged to. I raised my eyebrow and made a face. I should probably start answering my phone again.

Holding my phone to my ear to listen to the voicemail from yesterday, I closed my eyes at the mention of Emery's name. " _Hello, again, Ms. Browning, this is Edward from the county clerk's office again. We are down to the last two days to claim Emery Calico's body. If you don't, you will surrender your rights to lay her to rest in a way you see fit. She will be cremated on July third. Please call me back at…"_ I closed my phone and took a ragged breath. We were finally out of time.

I meandered towards my door and turned the knob, doing my best to fake it through another day.

…

I made coffee and stood at the bar, sipping at a cup of the black liquid. Since I couldn't taste it anyway, I figured the best bet would be to simply drink it plain. Maybe the more caffeine I ingested, the more energy I might have to pretend to smile and muddle through the day.

Since Emery, I did what I could to avoid the middle of the kitchen. If I had to wash dishes, I did it with music playing or the TV blaring. If I had to cook dinner (when we had food) I stood to the right side of the stove and took the long way around the island to sit in the living room. After the coroner had come to take her body away, I had destroyed much of the swinging doors that covered the entrance to the kitchen out of anger and spite and sometime last week, Serra had finally taken them down off their hinges, tired of fighting her way into the room, changing the look of our living room by opening up the floor plan. It was a healthy way to change things, but I still had not forgiven the room itself for taking the only mother that Serra remembered.

Shaking my head at the onslaught of memories, I took another sip of the hot liquid and closed my eyes, trying to block them out.

I could hear Serra banging around in her bedroom upstairs. She was up early. Maybe today would be the day she decided to go back to school and stay there.

She came down in flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled over her hair, despite the warm breeze floating through the house. Sitting at the table across from where I stood, I silently offered her a cup of coffee. Shaking her head, she avoided my gaze. I turned towards the refrigerator and pulled out the remaining Diet Coke and held it up to her.

Serra tried not to smile at me, but the corner of her mouth tugged into a sly grin. I set it on the table and slid it across the wood; my hand brushing hers and her memories flew through my mind at the physical touch. I gasped quietly, seeing the scene from last night: Serra sitting in her car and holding her gun, contemplating taking her own life. After she popped the can open and took a long drink, she sighed and glanced up at me. I reeled, trying to control my emotions, and allowed her to take a breath and speak.

"I think I'm going to go to school today," she said quietly.

I nodded, taking another sip of my coffee, still remaining as calm as I could. "Good," I replied, lifting my eyebrows. "You gonna stay there?"

Serra rolled her eyes, predictably. "Yeah," she said, annoyed.

Silence filled the kitchen as it did so often these days and I took a breath, wondering if I should push it, but I couldn't help myself. "Are we going to talk about how close you were last night?"

"How close I was to what?" she asked, taking another drink of Diet Coke.

I stared at her, lowering my mug to the counter and tilting my head. "How close you were to pulling the trigger."

The anger that boiled to the surface in my sister's hazel eyes was enough for a normal person to take a step backwards. I was no ordinary person and rather than being intimidated by Serra's rage-filled gaze, I took a step closer and leaned my hands on the table, lowering my face to hers.

She stared me down, setting her jaw. "Probably not," she answered.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

"Why don't you mind your own fucking business?"

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, standing back up to my full height. "Jesus, Serendipity. What were you thinking?"

She stood as well, pushing the chair back from the table with her movement. "I was thinking about how we had nothing left. At the time, I thought, 'Gee? Why prolong the inevitable?' Everyone else is dead, sister. Why not me?" Her voice was sarcastic and she tilted her head ironically. "I'm over it now, Grace. Let it go."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Fine," I said, picking up my cup of coffee once again. I took a deep breath, trying to mentally change subjects and allow my little sister her moment of insanity. I would be lying if I said the thought hadn't occurred to me once or twice in the last three weeks, but I had a responsibility to Serra. If I weren't around, who would be?

Taking another breath, I refilled my coffee cup and raised my eyebrows. "County clerk's office called again yesterday," I ventured. "We need to decide what to do with…" I faded away, unable to say Emery's name.

Serra looked away, leaning back in the chair where she sat. "With Emery's body?" she whispered.

Nodding, I agreed, "Yeah." Watching my sister, I knew she was trying to reform her argument about burying Emery instead of salting and burning her corpse, as we had been taught to do in the hunting world. We both knew the risks of burial; there was always a risk of coming back when your remains were still intact, whether you wanted to or not. Serra and I both knew that Emery died with unfinished business and we couldn't run the risk of having her show up in halls of our house, begging forgiveness for leaving us so soon after Dad was killed.

Serra leaned forward across the table, sliding the can of soda towards me slightly. "I wanna bury her, Grace."

Shaking my head, knowing a fight was coming; I did my best to speak calmly to my baby sister. "I know you do, Sere, but you know we can't."

"Why can't we? Why can't we have one normal thing in our lives?" Serra was on her feet, pacing around the kitchen. I watched her, still leaning on the counter, knowing that this wouldn't end well.

"Serra, think about it. What happens when her spirit realizes that we're stuck here alone? What happens when she realizes that we are her unfinished business and she's tied to this house?"

"Don't you want something normal, Grace? We didn't get to even see Mom after she died; Dad's body is still on the side of the road for all we know, but Em…We could finally have some closure with her. We could have a service and bury her in a cemetery, with a grave marker and everything."

Closing my eyes, I shook my head. "How do you expect to pay for all of that, Serra? Funerals are expensive! Thousands of dollars!" I turned and set my mug down on the counter again, unwilling to spill it all over the floor, now that I was speaking animatedly with my hands. "What, do you want to have a car wash? 'Help the poor hunter girls bury the only family member they had left?'" I shook my head and swallowed the tears that threatened at my eyes again. "We can't even afford what it costs to professionally cremate her."

"We could figure it out. We could sell stuff from around the house. Pawn some of Dad's guns?"

"Serra, listen to yourself," I said, stepping forward. "Pawn the guns? We don't have any ownership certs or registration requirements. I don't even have insurance on my car. We're flying so low under the radar that if we even came forward to pay for any funeral or coffin, they would be suspicious that we paid for everything in cash!" I gestured to her; "I'm surprised no one has come knocking on the door, asking where your legal guardian is."

"You are," she spat, looking disgusted.

"I get that, Serra, but we don't have a death certificate for Dad. I have no idea how to file for any of that, or even how to stay legit about it. I mean, the house? The house is paid for, but how do I claim ownership now that Dad is dead? I assumed Em would handle all of that, but now she's fucking gone too."

Serra was frozen, staring out onto our backyard. "What does that mean?" she asked quietly. "Are they going to take the house?"

I took a long time to answer her because in truth, I didn't know myself. We had rights to it, considering that my parents had ensured that it was paid for long ago, but I had no idea how to prove that our father was dead without a body, or that I was supposed to be her legal guardian. If I wanted to make what remained of this family safe, I knew that we would have to go as legit as we could, which included filing with the state of Kansas and claiming Emery's body, as well as doing things like getting car insurance and making sure that Serra stayed in school.

I found myself shaking my head, feeling completely overwhelmed. Serra turned towards me and I realized that I never answered her. Finally I shrugged. "I don't know, Serra. I don't know how to do any of this."

"Awesome. Some great adult you are."

"Thank you for that," I replied, the edge coming back to my voice. "It's not like living real lives was part of our upbringing. Oh, sure, I can disassemble and reassemble a Colt fucking .45 in less than three minutes, but I have no idea how to pay taxes. I don't have a checking account or a credit card, but I have six fake IDs. I can track a fucking werewolf, but I don't know how to register your car." I could finally feel tears flood my eyes again after weeks having them dry and I looked to the ceiling in the kitchen, begging for control over my emotions. "What the fuck do you want from me, Serra? I'm doing the best fucking job I can."

Serra slammed her hand down on the table, setting her jaw. "It's not fucking good enough."

"Then why don't you give it a shot?"

She wheeled on me, her eyes dangerous. "I'm trying, but you won't let me bury Emery. How am I supposed to have _any_ closure in my life if I can't have _something_ to hold onto? Mom is gone, Dad is gone, and now, the _one person_ that could have made our lives whole again is fucking gone too!"

"The one person, Serra? What the fuck am I? You act like I have never done anything for you! It's always been 'Emery will help me with this!' or 'I wonder what Em thinks of that?'" I rolled my eyes. "That's all I have ever heard from you! You have never given a shit about what I think, even though I am always the one keeping us alive. Emery is gone." I lowered my voice. "We need to salt and burn her and move on with our lives."

"Fuck you, Grace," Serra spat and turned on a heel, grabbing her bag and heading out the front door. I closed my eyes and listened to the door slam. The engine of her Acura revved as she backed out the driveway. As I listened to the kitchen clock tick, tears dripped down my face realizing that I was completely alone.


	4. Chapter 4

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.** **

Chapter 4

Grace

Serra had been gone two days. She refused to answer my phone calls and my texts. I had followed through with the county clerk's office and the conversation hadn't gone well.

"Hi, I'm calling for Edward?"

The man on the other end of the phone was young, probably around my age. "Yes, this is Edward."

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to be as professional as I could be. "Hi, yeah, this is Grace Browning. You called about claiming Emery Calico's body?" I took a deep, shaking breath after saying her name. "I think I'm ready to do that now."

"Oh, Ms. Browning, I'm glad to hear from you. I was getting worried," Edward answered, taking a deep breath and shifting papers around. "First of all, I am sorry for your loss."

I rolled my eyes. This is exactly the type of personal interaction I tended to avoid. "Yeah, thank you. Me too."

"You will need to have your mortuary come in the next twenty-four hours. Our claim fee is four hundred dollars."

"Claim fee?" I asked, closing my eyes and rubbing my face with my free hand.

"Yes, standard claim fees are one hundred dollars from the coroner and then one hundred dollars per week until pick up from the mortuary."

I took a deep breath, shaking my head in disbelief. "So, the woman close enough to me to be my mother dies, and then you want to charge me four hundred dollars to claim her body."

"Yes," Edward agreed, businesslike. "It's standard procedure."

Holding the phone away from my ear, I pressed it to my forehead and felt myself scrunching up my face, trying to avoid getting completely pissed. "And how long do I have to pay this standard procedure fee?" I asked, returning the phone to my ear.

"Payment is due upon claim of the body."

"Yeah," I said, shaking my head with my eyes closed. "Okay, fine. What are your hours?"

I wrote down additional details that I may have needed from Edward, the overly professional county clerk and sat at the kitchen table, completely defeated. I didn't have four hundred dollars. I didn't have forty dollars.

Until next week, when the restaurant paid me again, I had twenty-seven dollars and forty-two cents to my name. "Shit," I said under my breath.

I pressed my lips together, trying to sort through the possibilities in my head. I could always just con someone for the money, but I had less than twenty-four hours to do it. Then I had the problem with coming up with a mortuary that would pick up Em's body for free. Unlikely. I spun my phone on the table and licked my lips, trying to suck it up and decide what to do.

Before I really knew what I was doing, I was opening my phone again and flipping through the missed calls list. There it was: Bobby Singer's name was fifth on the list. I needed a lot of things in the next day or so, but at the top of my list of things most necessary was an adult.

I pressed send and held the phone to my ear, counting the rings as it echoed through the speaker.

"Hello?"

I took a breath, completely intending to answer coherently, but with that one word; that one greeting from a friendly voice, I collapsed into a puddle of tears and was close to inconsolable.

Bobby paused from the other end, taking a slow breath. "Grace? Is that you?"

Nodding, I tried to answer, "Yeah." It barely came out as a whisper.

"What do you need, honey?" Bobby's voice was calm and kind.

I took a gasp of air and finally was able to speak. "I don't know what to do," I whispered, wiping my face, embarrassed at my outpouring of emotion. "The county clerk's office just told me that in order to claim Emery's body, I have to come up with four hundred bucks and a mortuary has to come and get her." I was pacing around the living room now, fired up. "I don't have four hundred dollars! I don't have the money to hire a mortuary! How am I supposed to go legit if I can't even get my feet under me?"

"I can get you the money, Grace," Bobby said. "Money's not an issue."

"It is for me," I said, firm. "I wanted to be able to do this on my own. To be able to be an adult, for Em, but it's all just falling apart. You can't do shit in this town without any cash. I don't know what I was thinking." My voice went low and almost to myself, I said, "I should just let the county cremate her. At least then, she wouldn't come back."

"If the county cremates her, Grace, you're gonna get charged for that too, and if you don't pay up in ninety days or so, they're gonna issue a warrant for your arrest." Bobby paused, obviously worked up as well. "State always gets their payments, one way or another."

I shut my eyes, frustrated. "I don't know what to do, Bobby. I'm sorry you're the one I keep calling, but we don't have anyone else," I said. "I...don't have anyone else."

"I know all about bein' alone, honey," Bobby replied quietly. He got to business. "Alright, if you wanna do this yourself, you're gonna need some things to pull it off. Think of it as a really big con."

"Okay," I said, picking up a pen. "Tell me what I need."

"You're gonna need a van, preferably white, with a gurney," he began, rattling off information. "You're going to need uniforms and another person. Mortuaries always send two."

I made notes on the pad I had in front of me and nodded. "Okay," I said, thinking that this would be a nice time to have Serra home. "What else?"

"I'll call tonight to say that Greendale Mortuary is coming tomorrow at three to pick up Emery's body," Bobby continued. "It makes you sound legit if there's an appointment time. The mortuary would be paying your fee anyway, so bring the cash with you."

"Cash is okay? They don't need an official check or something?"

Bobby chuckled. "State don't care where the money comes from, as long as it's money."

Sighing, I nodded. "So I really the need the cash then. Can't fake it?"

"Nope," Bobby said. "They won't give you her body if there's no money."

I drew a dollar sign on the pad of paper next to me and underlined it. "Thanks Bobby."

"You need a van? I got a couple up here in Sioux City."

"That's okay, Bobby. I'll figure something out," I replied, shaking my head.

"How about some help?" Bobby asked, still trying to make sure I would be all right. "I got my boys. Could send them down to help you out."

Shaking my head, I smiled lightly, thankful for this man's kindness, even though he really knew nothing about me. "Thanks Bobby. I got it."

"Anytime, honey," he said. "And I mean that," he continued. "Any time you need something, you just pick up that phone."

"I appreciate that, Bobby. I really do. Thanks so much."

I closed my cell phone and put it on the table. I had a mortuary to rob.

…

I wasn't sure how he knew it, but Bobby was right. There was, in fact, a Greendale Mortuary in Lawrence. I shook my head at Bobby's knowhow and smiled to myself. Looking up closing times on the Internet, I sat with the phone to my ear, listening to my fifth phone call to Serra ring over and over. Her voicemail message finally answered yet again. " _Hi, this is Serra, just text me, it's easier."_ I slapped the phone shut and held it to my forehead.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to take a different approach. I decided to finally just bite the bullet and start calling other hunters, knowing that Serra was probably riding their coat tails. If it was one thing that Serra was better at than me, besides her aim, it was convincing people to give her exactly what she needed. In this case, it was shelter and food. In exchange, she would go along for the ride, hunting right along with them. I took a deep breath and started with a radius of hunters that were still close enough to Lawrence to be in Serra's splash zone.

I dialed and took a deep breath. I was probably in for a long afternoon.

…

"Hi, this is Grace Browning, Tru's daughter? Yeah, I'm looking for my sister…"

…

"Hey, Paul, this is Grace Browning. Yeah, hi, it's good to hear from you, too. Listen, my sister took off a few days ago…"

…

"…This is Grace? Browning. Truman's daughter? Yeah, hi. My sister took off and I wanted to know if you or anyone else had heard from her lately."

…

"…Browning. Yeah, like the gun. Do you remember my dad? Truman?"

…

"Hi, Peter," I sighed, listening to yet another voicemail greeting. "My name is Grace Browning and we hunted with you back in Portland a couple of times. My dad, Tru, knew your dad…"

…

I was nearing the end of the contacts that I had accumulated from working with my dad. Hours had passed with nothing besides a lot of, "Sorry to hear about your dad," and "No, I haven't seen her." As I clicked to the bottom three hunters on my list, my phone began to vibrate in my hand. It was a number I had already called and left a message. His name was Santiago and we had worked a job in New Mexico with his family almost three years ago. Santiago had a little brother that Serra had taken to and now that his number flashed across the screen of my phone, it seemed to make sense that Serra would have headed to familiar faces, especially if there was a boy her age involved.

"Hello?" I asked, opening my phone.

"Grace?" he whispered, "is that really you?"

"Santiago?" I questioned, instinctively lowering my voice as well. "Why are you whispering? Is everything okay?"

He chuckled quietly. "Yeah, everything is fine. I got your message and I wanted to make sure I stayed out of earshot."

"Does that mean Serra's there?"

Santiago chuckled again. "She is. She caught up with us right outside of the Oklahoma/Missouri border. We're on a hunt down in Arkansas." He took a deep breath and I heard a door close nearby. His voice went back to a normal volume as he continued. "We were hunting fangs right outside of Amity."

I sighed with relief. "Oh, man, Santiago. I am so happy you called. Thank you so much."

"No worries, Grace. Although," he said, lowering his voice again, sounding sympathetic. "She told us about your dad and Emery. We're all real sad to hear about that."

Closing my eyes momentarily, I nodded. "Thanks, I know. Me too."

"Told us about your blowout, too."

I shook my head, thinking that Santiago was simply calling me to tell me to back off of my sister. She had a way with men that I was embarrassed to say that she picked up from me. "Yeah," I said, nodding. "Life has been rough the last few weeks."

"I figured. That's why I called, anyway. You sister is still a firecracker," he chuckled. "Heard my phone ring earlier and watched me check who it was. It's like she knew, man."

"She probably did," I answered. "She's got instincts like a mother fucker."

"Don't I know it," Santiago said with a tone of amazement. "Took on the coven last night," he continued, his voice low. "There were eighteen."

"Big coven," I said, fiddling with the pen in my hands, grateful that Serra was safe, but now needing to move on and take care of the next item on my checklist.

Santiago agreed, "Yeah, biggest I've seen. Southern. Mostly men."

"Yeah?" I asked, trying to get Santiago off the phone.

He didn't get my hint and continued relentlessly, "Yeah. Your sister took on nine by herself." He paused for effect as I struggled to wrap my head around the fact that my fifteen-year-old sister had taken on nine vampires on her own and lived to tell about it.

"Nine?" I repeated, shaking my head. "There's no way."

"I'm serious, Grace. She had one of her .45s in one hand and a machete in the other," he said, almost whispering. "She was like a machine."

My mind reeled; trying to grasp the story he was telling me. The biggest vampire coven we had ever taken on was eleven large and even then, they were small mid-western fangs, not like these big ones from the south. They were fast, muscular, and if they got a hold of you, it was over.

I didn't have time to deal with the fact that Serra had some kind of death wish, so I thanked Santiago. "Listen, thanks for calling me back," I said. "If she leaves your group, will you call me and just tell me which way she goes?"

"For sure," he agreed, smiling lightly, "but I don't think she's going anywhere for awhile."

"Why do you say that?" I asked, turning my attention back to his voice.

"Because she and Miguel remember each other," Santiago replied. "They were very comfortable together last night after the hunt."

That was all I needed; for Serra to get knocked up at fifteen because she harbored a crush on some hunter's kid. I shook my head, searching for the right way to phrase it. "Dude, she's only fifteen," I started, "tell Miguel to keep his pants on, will you?"

"Miguel is Miguel," Santiago said, obviously grinning. "Really, I would think you would want me to tell that to your sister."

Rolling my eyes, I realized that was more the truth than anything. "Yeah," I agreed. "If she tries anything, kick her to the curb, will you?"

"I'll try."

"Thanks, Santi. Call me when she bails, will you?"

"I'll try," he repeated, hanging up.

Holding my head in my hands after setting my phone down, I breathed a sigh of relief. Serra was safe, for the moment, anyway. Right now, I had bigger priorities.

I opened my phone for what I hoped would be the last time today. As it rang, I closed my eyes and hoped that my friend from the restaurant would be as willing as I hoped to help me with a con. Natalie had a bit of a rebellious streak and I figured if I told her that we were doing a job for a little extra cash, (not a con,) she would be on board with helping me.

"Hello?" Nat's voice came over the speaker. She was listening to Nirvana in the background.

"Hey, Natalie, it's Grace," I said, smiling my way through the fake-friendly I was putting on. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Not much," she replied, popping her gum. "I got a shift in the morning at the diner."

"What time do you get off?"

"Noon."

I smiled at my luck. "So, I've been working at the mortuary for some extra cash on the weekends and we're short one person tomorrow. You wanna make fifty bucks?"

Natalie giggled lightly, taking a long drag of the cigarette I knew she had in her mouth. "You work at a mortuary?"

"Only part time," I said, rubbing my face. "It's my last week but my partner bailed on a pick up tomorrow."

"We're picking up a body?" she asked, at last sounding interested.

I nodded, smiling to myself. Natalie had been a good choice. "Yeah, over at the county clerk's office. They store unclaimed coroner pick-ups there. The family finally claimed her." I waited patiently as Nat took another drag of her cigarette.

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "That sounds interesting. Can't be a fucking waitress all my life, right?"

"Ain't that the truth," I said, slowing releasing the air I had trapped in my lungs. "Thanks, Natalie. I owe you."

"Don't worry about it, Grace!" she replied, still smiling. "A dead body...how creepy!"

"I'll pick you up around two-thirty tomorrow," I continued, trying to avoid the fact that Natalie referred to picking up Emery's body as 'creepy.' "You'll have to wear the uniform I bring for you, okay?"

"That's fine," she said. "I wouldn't know appropriate dress for body retrieving anyway."

I forced myself to laugh and thank her. Hanging up the phone, I rested my head in my hands once more. Staring at the computer screen in front of me, I noted that the mortuary closed at six this evening and had a private viewing tonight at eight. By the time the staff cleaned house and closed up shop, it would be close to eleven. I would have to wait until at least one in the morning to make sure that everyone had gone home. Then, somehow, I would have to avoid the security cameras, steal four hundred and fifty bucks, two uniforms, and a van with a gurney. A job like this would typically take days to plan. I glanced at the clock and shook my head.

I had ten hours.

Sighing and popping my neck, I pulled myself closer to my computer and got to work.


	5. Chapter 5

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.** **

Chapter 5

Serra

Sitting on the couch with Miguel, Santiago's little brother, I felt the best I had felt in weeks. We had just wrapped a fang hunt and I was un-fucking-believable. There was a coven of eighteen Southern vamps and we hit them hard last night, taking out the entire coven in a little less than two hours. Santi had the entire hunt planned down to the finest detail and having another gun in the group had made the hunt go that much more smoothly. After it was all said and done, he told me that I had the winning number of kills and I hadn't even realized that he had been keeping track. When Miguel grinned at me, telling me that I had taken out nine fangs on my own, I couldn't help but feel like I was on my A game. I had a lot of rage to burn.

Miguel had just turned seventeen and was hot, in a tall, dark and sexy kind of way. He had longer hair than I liked, but his eyes were dark and mysterious. A lifetime of being on the road had hardened him, giving his shoulders and back the muscular definition of someone much older. It turned me on.

He brought me a Diet Coke and put his arm around my shoulders, smiling at me lightly. "It's good to see you again, Lucky."

I nodded at him, smiling at the nickname. Usually Grace was the only one who called me that, and I ignored the ache that pounded through my chest. "You too, Miguel. It's nice to feel welcome."

"You don't feel welcome at home?" he asked, turning to stare at me, his hair falling into his face the slightest bit.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Grace keeps trying to make decisions for me, treating me like some fucking kid."

He pressed his lips together and shrugged, using one shoulder. "She is your big sister," he said quietly. "I know you don't want to hear this shit right now, but she's just like Santi. She just wants what's best for you."

"You're right," I started, pulling away from him. "I don't want to hear that right now." More under my breath than anything, I shook my head and said, "I knew she called here."

"What?"

"Your brother was on the phone earlier, keeping his voice down. That was her, wasn't it?" I stood from the couch, backing away from Miguel. "Santiago told her I was here."

Miguel held up his hands, leaning forward and using a soft tone. "Serra, she's just worried. Think about it. Your parents just died and then you ditch her the first time things get a little tough." He shrugged again. "She has every right to be worried."

"That's bullshit, Miguel," I said, walking away from him, grabbing my bag and my keys. "You don't even know what we were fighting about. You don't know me, and you don't know Grace. You don't get to have an opinion."

"Serra, stop," Miguel said, standing from the couch. He followed me into the hall of the house we were squatting in. "That might be, but every fight between hunter siblings is always the same: protect the younger, rebel against the older. I could write a fucking manual for this shit, because Santi and I have been through it all. Aye, Dios mio," he said under his breath. "Get a grip and stop running."

"She won't let us bury Emery," I spat, setting my jaw. "Haven't you ever lost someone you wanted to bury?"

Miguel stared at me sadly. "Of course I have." He took a step closer to me, taking my purse off my shoulder and lifting my chin to stare into his eyes. "We're hunters, Lucky. We can't afford luxuries like burials. Think about the shit we would bring back."

I looked away from him, trying to pull my chin away from his face, but he held it in place. He leaned closer to me and I could feel the heat rolling off of his skin. My heart was in my throat as he bent his head towards mine and kissed me.

Pulling away from me in the slightest, Miguel smiled at me and said, "Stay."

"She knows where I am."

"Why is that a problem?" Miguel whispered, "She knows you're with us and that you're safe. She'll back off."

I didn't want to admit that he was right, so I looked away and crossed my arms in front of me. "I'll stay on one condition."

"Try me," he said, smiling.

"I want food. I want a lot of food."

Miguel chuckled, putting his arm around my shoulders again and letting my purse fall to the ground where it had been earlier. "Deal," he said, kissing me once more.


	6. Chapter 6

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.** **

Chapter 6

Serra

We made out for hours after we ate and I lay on my stomach, still munching on potato chips as we were sprawled out on the king sized bed in the back of the house. Santiago and his cousins had gone to a bar in town, and since we were both still way under-age, even with our fake IDs, Santi had forced Miguel and I to stay put.

He was dozing next to me with his arm over his face, shirtless, and I watched him silently, licking the salt off my fingers. "My God, you're gorgeous," I said, shaking my head. "How much Navajo do you have in you?"

Miguel brought his arm down, smiling lightly. "That's racist as fuck," he said, still smiling.

"Seriously," I said, rolling towards him. "I know your mother was Mexican, but was your Dad full Navajo?"

He nodded, "Yeah," he said, leaning towards me as well. "I've got half Navajo 'in me'," he said, using his fingers as air quotes. Kissing me again, he traced the line of my neck down to my chest. "Would you like to have a half Navajo in you?"

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. "Smooth," I said, sitting up. Suddenly, I was warm, heat flushing my cheeks. It was a line I had never crossed, being that intimate with a boy, but Miguel, I knew, had girlfriends in the past. He had one when we hunted the vengeful spirit, back in New Mexico, almost three years ago. Obviously, he had been younger, but I knew he'd had more since then.

My thoughts raced, trying to decide if I was there yet. I was fifteen, but I had been through some shit in my life. That should count for something, right? I turned to stare at Miguel and he inched closer to me, trying his best not to make me back away.

He kissed my neck, using his face to push my hair aside. My skin tingled from his touch, my body reacting with adrenaline in the most pleasurable way. I knew Grace had been with a lot of boys, but struggled to remember if she ever told me how young she was when she lost her virginity.

As Miguel pushed closer, I closed my eyes and slowly, I didn't care about what Grace would think. I turned my face towards his and kissed him deeply, holding his face with both of my hands. Miguel attempted to take my flannel off, but because the sleeves were rolled, he couldn't get them down my arms. I took over and jerked my arms out, throwing it to the floor and peeling off my tank top. Smiling at me, Miguel pulled his shirt off, over his head and tossed it on the floor next to mine.

He was on me again, pushing me down on the bed and trying to unbutton his jeans. I gasped as he bit down on my neck, sending electricity all the way to the depths of my belly. I giggled nervously as he worked the button of my jeans, his hands experienced and quick.

"Miguel," I whispered as he attacked my neck again, "I've never done this before."

"I know," he said, pulling away from me. "You're young, I wouldn't expect you to have."

Closing my eyes and forcing myself to stay focused, I pushed him away slightly. "I don't want to get pregnant," the words came tumbling out of me before I realized how childish it sounded.

He grinned at me as he leaned over to his duffel, sitting open near the side of the bed. "That's what this is for," he said, holding up a condom.

I had killed too many monsters to count and routinely lived on the road, staring evil in the face, but this was the most scared I had ever been. Miguel kissed me again, trying to put my mind at ease, but I struggled to stay calm. So much had happened in the last month or so, I could barely wrap my head around all of it. Hunters all over the world were still worried about the apocalypse, but things had been quiet for weeks. I tried to come up with a reason to run, a reason to buy more time, but it was almost as I needed this to happen to prove to myself that I was still alive. I wanted to feel something again. Anything.

Miguel seemed like as good of choice as any.

I gave myself over to him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders as his hands felt every part of my body. Finding the hooks of my bra like a pro, he undid them and backed away enough to pull it off of me. He smiled; his dark eyes lighting up with passion. Miguel may have only been seventeen, but he was all man.

Breathing hard, we held each other close and I tried to contain my excitement about what was coming. I lay on the bed, completely naked, and he leaned back to smile at me, his dark hair falling into his face. Grinning at me, he lifted his eyebrows, silently asking permission.

I took a deep breath and nodded, smiling back. This was it.

Bending forward towards my face, Miguel pushed himself into me and I gasped. He whispered, "I'll go slow, likan," he said, his voice finding a Navajo word I didn't recognize.

I knew it was my lack of experience talking, but the first few minutes weren't exactly enjoyable. It almost hurt and I did what I could to try and move with Miguel, to try and develop a rhythm as I imagined it should be. He kissed me again and I felt myself relax, my body curling into his. He smiled as he kissed me. I could feel his lips curve and I pulled away, mildly offended. "What?" I asked, tensing back up.

"It hurts because you're nervous," he said quietly. "Relax, Serra. Don't fight back."

It was in my nature to fight back, so Miguel telling me to relax made it that much harder. He leaned forward again, his black hair dusting the pillow behind me and he softly bit my bottom lip and trailed his kisses around to my ear. Biting down on my earlobe, right behind my set of earrings, I could feel him breathe into my neck and electricity shot down my spine again.

I reached for his shoulders, pulling myself closer to him and smiled a bit, finally starting to understand what everyone was always talking about. It felt _good._

Miguel smiled again and used his arm to support himself as I wrapped my leg around his hip, pushing him further into me. I couldn't help grinning as I let my head fall back against the pillow and he attacked my neck again.

I was glad Miguel was experienced because something told me that it wouldn't have lasted nearly as long as it did if he had been a virgin, too. By the time we were done, we were both sweaty, feeling the heat and humidity of the early July summer. Miguel rolled to the side, gasping for breath and I giggled to myself, wiping my hair from my face.

"Well?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Well, what?" I answered, turning to face him, still out of breath.

Miguel smiled as he propped his head on his hand, staring at me. He reached out to touch my face and asked, "Did you come?"

I fought the smile that sprang to my lips, knowing that it was supposed to be hard for women to get the ending they always wanted, but I nodded, knowing full well that I did. My brain pushed the memory of me crying out in pleasure towards the front again and reliving it, I grinned.

Miguel leaned into the pillow behind him and smiled to himself. "You're welcome," he said, a hint of smugness to his voice.

"Oh, shut up," I said, hitting him on the shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.** **

Chapter 7

Grace

Time passed quickly that afternoon as I learned the most that I could about the locations of the cameras at the mortuary and where they kept the vans. I did a few drive-bys, seeing a van on the far side of the automatic gate. There were two cameras on the entrance side of the building and another one on the back corner near the gate. I knew that I would have to scale the gate, coming from the south side, to avoid the camera. I also knew that I would have to break in, picking the lock on the back door and letting myself in before the alarm sounded, which I would also have to disarm before the alarm company was notified of my entrance.

All of this sounded impossible without a second person.

Online, I had found photos of the inside of the mortuary and had acclimated myself with the layout. There were only one or two cameras on the inside, one of which was over a door that was labeled "private" which guaranteed the safe was in that room. I needed the money to claim Em's body, along with two uniforms that didn't look too ridiculously big on Natalie and me. I had yet to be able to confirm that there was already a gurney inside the van that I needed, so I would have to have a backup plan if it wasn't where it should be.

I reviewed the plans over and over in my head and before I knew it, the clock said it was five minutes after midnight. I sighed and pulled my hair into a tightly wound bun at the top of my head. I trudged upstairs, completely exhausted, but I knew that this was all a means to an end.

I dug through my closet and pulled out a black, long sleeved shirt and black leggings. I pulled on my lightweight black boots that had been modified with leather soles, to remain silent on the pavement and floors, then I found a black knit cap to pull over the blonde bun I had at the top of my head. I shook my head, staring in the mirror. This was ridiculous. I was going to get caught.

At one-oh-five, I was pulling into the neighborhood behind the mortuary, parking my ostentatious, bright red Toyota and parking it silently under an oak tree, about a quarter mile away from the mortuary. I jogged down the road, hiding in the shadows, and made my way to the back gate.

Glancing up at the camera, I could see that the camera swiveled back and forth. It was on its way back to face the gate, so I ducked behind the wall and listened hard. I could hear the hum of the swivel as it turned away, heading back towards the building. I was up and over the gate before it had a chance to stare at me once again, using the van to hide in plain sight. A few seconds later, I jogged up to the back door, bringing out my lock-pick set and let myself into the mortuary.

The back of the room flashed blue, indicating the alarm had been tripped. I ran to the panel and popped it off the wall, exposing the wires inside. I brought out the wire clamps that I had used too many times before and clipped the blue and red wire without hesitation. There was no green panic wire on this system, so I didn't have to worry about the backups being triggered. When I was done, I would twist the ends back together, rearming the system and clicking the faceplate back on, leaving no trace of my presence.

The camera in the chapel swiveled to try and catch sight of me as I jogged towards the "employees only" locker room in the back of the mortuary. Keeping my eyes on the corners of ceiling, I watched for cameras, but was shocked to find none as I moved. My eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and I began quietly opening lockers, looking for a female-sized uniform. Finally, I found a locker labeled "Denise" and pulled out a green jumpsuit, very similar to a mechanic's uniform. I closed my eyes and held it up to my shoulders, begging in silence for it to be about the right size. Looking down, I saw that it was pretty close to perfect and continued my search for an extra for Nat.

I silently got to a locker labeled "Ricky" and opened it to find a pair of very small men's shoes. If there were small shoes, maybe Ricky was smaller than the average mortuary worker. I pulled out his green uniform and held it up to my shoulders. Looking down at myself, it was slightly too long, but really, it would probably fit me just fine. Natalie was shorter than me and she could be Denise.

Rolling up the jumpsuits, I tucked them into the small black backpack I wore and closed up the locker room. Checking the clock on the wall, I saw that I was doing well on time. I controlled my breathing so that I didn't echo, just in case there was audio on the video recordings. At the end of the employee hall, I stopped and stared at the camera that faced the door marked, "Private." This was the only part of the night that worried me. Getting into a locked room with a camera pointed right at it was one thing, but getting into the safe was another. It also brought up the question on if that room had its own alarm.

Shaking my head, I dismissed the thought. This was Kansas, after all. People were still trusting, here. As the camera swiveled back towards the employee hall, I backed into the shadows and brought out the only device besides my tools that I had included in my pack. It was reminiscent of the EMP device that Rufus had used to wipe the computers and cameras clean when he came to break us out of jail. That seemed so long ago, but really, it only three weeks had passed. I had picked the EMP up at a swap meet about a week after we got home, thinking it might come in handy some day. I had tested it at home with an old cell phone and the TV, and sure enough, it had interfered with the feed enough that I trusted it to do its job tonight.

I crept towards the door and tried the handle before I bothered wasting time trying to pick it. It was unlocked, so I let myself in before the camera had a chance to swivel back towards me. I closed the door behind me and took a deep breath. The safe was in the corner of the room, begging to be touched.

Keeping myself calm, I walked across the room and knelt down next to it. Maybe luck would find me again tonight. I tried the handle and let out a puff of air, almost laughing out loud. The safe was unlocked and there were stacks of bills, piled up in the tiny metal box.

Right there and then, I knew there was enough money in that safe to keep Serra and me fed for the next two months, but I couldn't force myself to take more than I immediately needed. Grabbing five stacks of ten-dollar bills, I checked quickly that they were in stacks of hundreds, just like at the diner. I was not disappointed. Shoving the five stacks into the backpack as well, I closed the safe with my foot and went to spin the dial, but stopped, knowing that whoever was in charge would notice when he left it unlocked the day before, but it was locked now. It would arouse suspicion. I needed to delay it as long as possible so they weren't looking for the van when I was using it. The hardest part of this job would be tomorrow, when the mortuary realized that they were missing a van and I was traipsing around town with it.

I stood, glancing at the clock. I had another few minutes before the mental timeline I had was over and I stared around the room, looking for the keys to the van. There was a lock box near the door that was mounted on the wall and I clicked my tongue in disappointment. I didn't account for the keys being locked up independently.

It was a five-button combination that, once pressed, stayed down until you completed the sequence. I searched my memory for the address of the mortuary, going with the most obvious of combinations first. The address was only four numbers, so I shook my head, knowing that it wasn't a possibility. I thought of the zip code next, punching in Lawrence's postal code, waiting silently for the box to pop open on the last digit. I was disappointed. Sighing, I turned towards the office, looking for some sign or hint to what the combination could be.

My eyes came to rest on a photograph of the cemetery behind the chapel and I tilted my head, staring at the logo. I glanced back at the code and saw that there was a possibility of an alphanumeric code as well. Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. That increased the possibility of combinations to an infinite number.

I tried "green" next, thinking maybe they took the first half of their own name to make it a combination. No luck. The minutes slid away and I was getting desperate. If the van was locked, there was no way I could get into it without breaking a window. I didn't have a slim Jim, nor did I see a metal coat hanger anywhere. All of the hangers in the lockers had been plastic tubing. Panic was starting to take hold and I struggled to keep control for a few more minutes. I turned around the office, searching for something, anything, that could be a five digit alphanumeric code and my eyes landed on the director's last name, "Lynch."

Spinning back towards the lockbox, I stabbed my fingers into the buttons, spelling out "Lynch" and let out a huge sigh as the box popped open, revealing the van keys hanging inside.

I grabbed the keychain labeled, "Beta" and closed the box quietly, resetting the combination. I pushed the button for the EMP to interfere with the camera feed and closed the office door behind me. Making a beeline for the alarm panel, I pulled my clamps away from the wires, stripping them with my fingernails as I did so, and then twined them back together, blue to blue and red to red. I clicked the panel back into place and the alarm lit up, waiting to be armed.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the button marked, "arm system" and jogged to the front door, locking the door handle behind me as I let it close. Not pausing to rest, I ran back to the vans as I held down the EMP button, not wanting to wait for the cameras to swivel away from me. I pressed "open" on the automatic fence as I ran by; unlocking the doors on the van marked "Beta" and started the engine. I backed up, out of the driveway with the headlights off and drove straight towards the storage unit Dad had for emergencies.

I parked the van, slid the garage door into place and ran like hell back to my car, taking off my beanie and letting my hair down as I ran. If I was going to get caught now, I at least looked like I was coming home from my boyfriend's house or something.

My car was still parked where I left it and I did my best not to break out into a run as I approached. I opened the door, started the engine and drove off, heading straight home. It was almost three in the morning by the time I slammed my head down onto the pillow, allowing sleep to take me. I had more work to do tomorrow.

…

The morning came all too quickly for me and I rolled over, staring at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to my bed. Three days had passed since I had seen Serra and I ached for her. We had never been apart this long and I wondered momentarily if we would ever be the same.

I didn't have time to pine for her. I had a shift to do at the restaurant and then I had to pick up Emery's body by three, picking up the van and Natalie somewhere in between. Shaking my head, I stood to take a shower and get ready.


	8. Chapter 8

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.** **

Chapter 8

Serra

Miguel and I had sex twice more that night and each time was better than the last. I was really getting the hang of it and now that I knew what felt good and what didn't, it was getting addictive. We woke up in a pile the next morning, the sheets draped around our legs and Miguel's arm over my back. A knock on the doorframe woke me from a deep sleep and I gasped as I tried to sit up, staring at Santiago, still completely naked.

"Rise and shine," he muttered. "Your sister is going to kill me."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, laying my face back into the pillow. "She can fuck off."

"That seems to be what happened here," Santiago said, coming farther into the room. He tossed a shoe at Miguel's head and raised his eyebrows as his brother finally came into full consciousness. "Aye," he began, "¿Qué crees que estás haciendo?"

Miguel waved him off, sighing heavily. I was pulling on a shirt as Santiago came to Miguel's side of the bed. He whipped the covers off of him and continued, his voice angry, "Ella es sólo quince años, Miguel! Jesus!"

Grabbing my jeans, I turned to tug them on, facing away from the brothers. I knew enough Spanish to know that Santiago wasn't happy with Miguel because of me, and it had something to do with the fact that I was only fifteen. I threw on my shirt and my flannel, plucked my purse from the floor and threw my guns inside as I walked.

From the bedroom, I could hear Miguel push past Santiago and call my name. "Serra! Wait!" I was already shaking my head. This wasn't the kind of drama I wanted. I just left Grace because I didn't like being told what I could and couldn't do. "Forget it, Miguel," I said, padding down the hall and jumping over sleeping hunters, "This was fun, believe me," I explained, grinning, "but I'm not going to hang around so another older sibling can boss me around."

"Let me worry about Santi," he said, touching my shoulder. "He's only being a dick because he hasn't gotten laid since May," Miguel finished, speaking louder so that his voice traveled down the hall, back to Santiago. "

"No, I'm doing this," Santi's voice followed us, "because you're both underage and I don't want to be an uncle yet." Miguel rolled his eyes and shook his head. "What, do you think I'm stupid, Santi?"

Santiago nodded, "Mayoría de las veces."

Rolling his eyes again, Miguel turned his attention back to me. I nodded towards Santiago, "What did he say?"

"He said I was stupid most of the time," Miguel said, smiling. "That's probably true, but I'd never admit it."

Smiling, I glanced down at my bare feet and I sighed, realizing that I would have been really pissed if I had left my boots here at the house when I tried to take off. Miguel touched my face, forcing me to stare up into his dark brown eyes. "Just stay. I'll deal with Santi and we'll have some fun. I heard the guys talking about a restless spirit near here. Keeps running people off the road."

Pursing my lips, I tilted my head, trying to hold back my smile. "That sounds like it could be interesting."

"That's my girl," he said, kissing me.

Santiago came down the hallway and shook his head. "Look, whatever, I can't control you two, but let me tell you something right now. If something happens to her, _you_ are going to deal with Grace Browning," he took a breath, pointing at Miguel.

"Grace is hardly someone to worry about," I said, making a face. "She's a pushover."

Santiago was shaking his head. "That's not the word on the street, Lucky. We all heard about her during the earthquake, and fighting those demons. She's one scary-ass bitch."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I couldn't understand what Santiago was talking about. "What do you mean?" I asked, "I was there. I mean, she's a great hunter and has a couple of advantages that the average Joe doesn't, but," I faded away at the intense looks on the faces of the men staring back at me. "What? Is there something I don't know about my sister?"

"We heard a rumor about her," Miguel said quietly. "That she was a chosen person."

"What does that even mean, a 'chosen person'? I mean, I know you guys are religious, but Grace isn't like that." I turned to set my bag on the counter top behind me. "She's a psychic, but that's about it."

Santiago glanced at his brother and gave him an 'I told you so' look. "See, Miguel? Las alas. Es cierto."

"What?" I asked, looking from brother to brother. Miguel shook me off. I made a mental note to look it up later. After Santiago gave a final shake of his head and shrugged at both of us, Miguel led me into the kitchen and rifled through the supplies that were piled on the counter.

"Well, it's not exactly his blessing, but at least he won't bug us anymore."

"What do you know about my sister?" I pressed, knowing there was much left unspoken.

"Hunters make up stories all the time," he said, handing me an apple. "Doesn't mean they're true."

"What do you know, Miguel?" He sighed after he took a bite. "Like I said," he began, "It's all rumor. When the earthquake happened, we heard that Grace had a vision and that she tried to warn you."

I nodded, "She did," I said. "She called about two hours before it happened."

"You said she's a psychic?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Most of the time, she can only see shit about people if she's touching you. Every once and awhile, she'll see a vision of what's coming, but I don't know what the point of that is. It's not like we can do anything to change the path."

"What do you mean?" Miguel asked, pushing himself up onto the countertop as he ate his apple.

I looked away, the memories of Grace having visions and dreams about Daddy's death were still so raw in my mind, it was hard to discuss it. "If Grace sees it happen, it does. There's nothing you can do to change it."

Miguel was silent for a time and finally took a quiet breath. "She saw your Dad get killed, didn't she?" I hadn't cried about it in almost two weeks.

I had moved into anger and talking about it just pissed me off. "Yeah, she did," I agreed. "She saw him die over and over again and we just let it happen. Didn't do shit to try and stop it." I tossed my apple core into the trash bag by the refrigerator. "Then, we didn't even stop to get his fucking body. We just took the car and drove until we ran out of gas." I turned to him and stared, my eyes dry and my voice rough. "How's that for dedicated daughters?"

Miguel watched me carefully, unsure of what to say. He shrugged lightly. "Sometimes you just need to embrace what is coming and learn how to adapt. You and Grace needed to survive. There is some greater purpose to you, I'm sure."

"I would agree with you if Emery hadn't died too," I said, taking a piece of beef jerky from the bag. "We finally made it home just to find her body on the floor of the kitchen."

"And, obviously, you had no choice but to leave Grace behind to grieve."

I turned slowly, staring up at Miguel, who was still perched on the counter. He set his jaw and tilted his head slightly, challenging me. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Jesus, Serra. You're just punishing yourself. Why leave? Why abandon her when you both need each other the most? You are literally the only family she has." Miguel shook his head and looked away from me, "I've never left Santiago because I was pissed."

"Well aren't you just some fucking hero." I spun on my heel and made to storm out of the kitchen.

Miguel was in front of me, staring me down with his arms crossed before I had a chance to react. "Give it up, Serra. Stop running," he said. "You need to grieve, properly, before you implode."

"What the fuck, Miguel? What do you know about losing everyone, huh? I have nothing left. Nothing."

"So you leave. It's a good way to cope, sure."

I could feel the anger bubbling in my chest, the white-hot rage surging in my muscles. I made the move to hit him, closed fist, straight into his face, but he countered immediately, catching my fist and spinning me around to wrap his arms around my torso. I struggled momentarily, but gave up quickly, knowing he was much stronger than me. As soon as Miguel let me go, I tried again, swinging this time with my left, trying to bring him down to the floor with my foot extended. He countered once more, using my momentum to push me into the counter and press his body up against mine.

"Fighting me isn't going to fix anything, Serendipity," he whispered into my ear from behind. "Until you go back to Grace, you'll remain broken."

"I'm not broken," I whispered back, my teeth clenched in anger. "I'm not going back to her."

"She's all you have left."

"Fuck her," I said, breathing hard.

Miguel backed away from me and was shaking his head sadly. "Then you both will suffer."

Looking away, I let him walk back to the living room and I wiped my face. I set my jaw, trying to ignore the dull ache in my chest. I knew I missed Grace, but I also knew I wasn't ready to see her yet. I pulled my phone out to scan through the messaged that had gathered over the three days I had been gone. Every one was from my sister. I selected each one individually and once all of the lines were highlighted, I pressed 'delete.' Closing the phone once again, I set it on the counter and closed my eyes. That would get easier, eventually. Everything does.


	9. Chapter 9

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.****

Chapter 9

Grace

"Can I pick you up today at two-thirty?" I asked Natalie as we walked out of the diner together after our shift. "We're still good?"

She nodded, lighting a cigarette. "Yeah, sure. The body pick up," she grinned at me. "That is one crazy way to spend a Saturday."

I smiled weakly. "Yeah," I agreed. "Okay, thanks." Pulling out the uniform I had stolen from the mortuary, I extended it to Natalie. "Here's the uniform. I borrowed it from a chick at the cemetery."

Natalie held it up with her free hand. "Oh yeah," she said, "that should fit."

"Good," I nodded. "See you in a few hours."

"Awesome. Wanna grab some food afterwards?" Making a face, I tilted my head, trying my best to look genuinely saddened. "Oh, sorry, Natalie. I have to deliver the remains to the mortuary and finish my shift. Thanks though. Rain check?"

She grinned as she let herself into her Honda. "Sure, Grace. Sounds good." Natalie hesitated, leaning on the roof of her car. "You heard from Serra?"

Pressing my lips together, I shook my head. "No," I said, but I got a phone call yesterday from a buddy down in Arkansas. He says that she's staying with them, so at least I know she's safe."

"That's something," Natalie agreed, taking a draw on her cigarette. "She's young, Grace. This is how teenagers deal with shit, you know?" I tried to agree without the pain of worry clenching my chest. "She'll be back."

"It's the longest we've ever been apart," I said quietly. "It's weird not having her around."

"I'll bet," Natalie agreed, tossing the butt of her cigarette on the ground. "She'll be okay." Nodding, I tried to smile again. I'm sure I just looked pained. "I'll see you at two-thirty." Natalie smiled and got into her Honda and started her engine. She put it in gear and drove away as I sat and started my own ignition. As the radio came on, I shook my head, hearing Johnny Cash come through the speakers.

Closing my eyes, I fought the tears that slid down my cheeks, listening to the lyrics slip through my chest.

 _What have I become_

 _My sweetest friend_

 _Everyone I know goes away_

 _In the end_

 _And you could have it all_

 _My empire of dirt_

 _I will let you down_

 _I will make you hurt._

I gasped for breath and slammed my hand on the radio knob, silencing the voice that echoed through my car. Throwing my car into first gear, I peeled out of the parking lot, headed for home. I could deal with my overzealous emotions when I had finally retrieved Emery's body.


	10. Chapter 10

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.****

Chapter 10

Grace

Two o'clock came before I was ready. I was running through the house, finishing putting my hair up into a bun as I ran, looking for the keys to the Beta van from the mortuary and struggling to not panic. I had never even considered pulling off a job like this without Serra, and to be honest, I was scared. I threw myself into my car, started it up and headed towards the storage unit where I had parked the van the night before.

As I switched cars, I took a couple deep breaths, reminding myself that Bobby, I was sure, had held up his end of the deal. I knew he called the day before to prep the County Clerk's office that I was coming, but I still felt unprepared. The longer we were apart, the more I realized how much I depended on the safety I felt when my baby sister was around.

Holding my phone out to stare at Serra's phone number on my screen, I debated even pushing 'call.' I closed my eyes and shook my head: it was ringing before I knew it was happening.

As predicted, the phone call went to voicemail and I took a deep breath as Serra's voice echoed through my ear. The silence told me that it was my turn to speak, but they were frozen somewhere between my belly and my throat. Finally, I swallowed and took a ragged breath.

"Sere, it's me," I said, not really knowing what to say. "I'm on my way to get Emery and…" I faded away, not knowing how to continue. "It's…it's the first job I've ever pulled without you. I'm taking Nat and let's face it, I'll probably get caught, so." I looked up, trying to keep the tears from smearing my make-up. "Anyway, I hope you're safe. I'm gonna…have a service for her tomorrow morning, early, by those caves she was convinced that she could make into a wine cellar." I laughed to myself, knowing how ridiculous this message was becoming. "I miss you."

I hung up the phone before I made it worse than it was. Pulling down the storage unit door, I climbed into the Beta van and took a deep breath. Time to play the part.

Driving the four miles to Natalie's house didn't take much time at all and she was waiting on the front porch for me when I drove up, looking professional with her hair up and modest make-up. She even made it a point to wear a long-sleeved shirt under the uniform to hide the two tattoos she had on her arms. I would be forever grateful towards her for putting in so much effort.

"Ready?" she greeted, smiling as she climbed into the van.

Nodding and smiling back as best as I knew how, I continued on to the County Clerk's office to get Emery.

…

"Hi," I greeted, holding my clipboard and envelope with the cash from the mortuary, "I'm here for a pick-up."

I knew it was Edward from the phone before he answered me. His face was kind, handsome, and only a little older than me. He smiled at me and extended his hand for the clipboard I was holding. "Oh, yes," he said, nodding at the release papers I had created. "Calico." Edward smiled and nodded, standing from his place at his desk. "Such a sad circumstance," he said, speaking to Natalie and me as he walked. "These sisters are barely old enough to be legal and both of their guardians end up dying the same week." We followed him down the hall and I closed my eyes, searching for the strength to hold it together. It was probably for the best that Serra wasn't here.

Natalie threw me a look as we walked and I knew, right then and there, that she knew this wasn't legit. I glanced at her and smiled sheepishly as we walked down the corridor to the tiny morgue. I knew I could trust Nat, but at the same time, I knew her trust in me had been shaken. I just hoped that she would keep it to herself until we were back in the van.

Edward turned and smiled at me, handing the clipboard back after he signed it. He smiled and held out his hand and it took me a second to realize that he was waiting for the payment from the mortuary. I handed him the envelope and he nodded, putting it into a drop box near the entrance of the morgue storage. I silently cursed the fact that he didn't even open the envelope to verify the fact that there was cash inside. I could have used that money.

Heading towards the cold storage drawers, Natalie wheeled the gurney towards us and I braced myself for what I knew would be my make or break. Edward opened the door marked "Calico, Emery," and I closed my eyes.

"She had no belongings with her when she came in," Edward was saying as I stared at Emery's body. "Only her clothes," he said, glancing at me. "Does the family want them?"

I shook my head, still staring at her lifeless form. "No," I heard myself say.

"Okay, then," Edward answered, turning back to Emery. "She's all yours."

Natalie nodded at me, edging me forward. We lifted the canvas sheet below her, using the handles to slide her body onto the gurney. Edward stepped forward to close the cold storage drawer and pull the label off of the door and peel the sticker back of, affixing it to the file he had in his hand. "Can you sign this here?" he asked, holding out the file and pointing to the dotted line at the bottom of the page. I nodded, numb, and took the pen, signing illegibly the fake name I wore on my uniform.

Pulling the gurney out into the hallway, Natalie paused and waited for me to follow. As soon as Emery was out of my line of sight, it immediately was easier to play the part. "Thank you very much," I said to Edward, smiling professionally at him. "Have a good one."

"Thanks," he said, his face flushing slightly. "You too." I made the move to follow Natalie, disbelieving how easily we were about to pull this off, but Edward's voice stopped me. "Excuse me," he began, rubbing his hands together, "I don't usually do this, and it's very awkward with in cold storage, but would you like to have dinner some time?"

It caught me off guard so much that I laughed. "Oh," I said, grinning awkwardly, "yeah. Dinner. Dinner would be awesome."

I could see Natalie roll her eyes. Men hit on me pretty constantly at the diner as well and I almost never turned them down, just on the fact that I could easily get fed a few times for free. He smiled at me, happy that I had accepted, and waited patiently as I wrote my phone number on his hand, trying very hard not to make physical contact with him. If I did, I knew it would be a very awkward three seconds as I watched his memories and thoughts play through my head when I should be writing. Being a psychic was a pain in the ass.

Edward glanced down at the ink in his palm and grinned down at me. "It was nice to meet you," he flicked his hazel eyes towards the nametag on my uniform, "Rickie. Can I call you tonight?"

I nodded my head, smiling again. I shrugged. "Of course," I breathed, "It was nice to meet you, too." With a final turn, I grinned and followed Natalie down the hall. I could hear the rolling wheels of the gurney begin to squeak and it not-so-gently reminded me that we were rolling Emery's dead body down a hall of a morgue and somehow, I still had to load her, drop off Natalie, drive Emery to the caves at the east end of town, drop her off, hide her, ditch the van and the uniforms, and go back to salt and burn her body. I didn't exactly have time to go on a date.

As soon as we had Emery loaded into the bay of the van, Natalie turned to me and stared. "You don't work for Greendale Mortuary."

I shook my head.

"Then where the hell did you get the van?"

"I stole it," I answered quietly.

Natalie tilted her head. "Why?"

Taking a deep breath, I knew how it sounded, and I had no defense for myself. I replied, "The only way to release a body through the state of Kansas is to have a mortuary claim it. I don't have the cash to pay for a mortuary. I barely have enough cash to eat, Nat."

She sat quietly for a moment and shook her head. "What else don't I know about you, Grace Browning?" she asked, smiling lightly. "You are a mystery."

"That's putting it mildly," I responded. We drove in silence for a few minutes and as we pulled up in front of her house, she made the move to open her door, but hesitated.

"What are you going to do with Emery?" she asked quietly.

I licked my lips and stared at the steering wheel. "Cremate her."

"By yourself?"

I nodded, unable to answer.

"Where is Serra?" Natalie pressed, tilting her head.

I could feel myself begin to lose control again. Natalie and I were friends and she knew about Serra taking off. "I don't really know," I whispered. "She hasn't called."

Natalie turned her body towards mine and reached for my hand, still resting on the steering wheel. "Let me help."

Tears brimmed in my eyes, threatening to fall down my cheeks, but I fought them off. "It's really okay, Nat," I was saying, shaking my head. "I can do it."

"Not alone," she whispered. "It's too much for anyone by themselves. You don't have to be alone. I expect a phone call tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you to pick me up on your way." I was still shaking my head, unwilling to let anyone else shoulder the burden. "Grace," she said, firm, "if you don't call me and come pick me up, I'll report you."

Whipping my head around to face her, I furrowed my eyebrows. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me." She jumped out of the van and slammed the door, stripping out of the jumpsuit uniform while she stood on the curb. Her long sleeve shirt and shorts had rolled up during our little con, revealing her belly button and her array of tattoos and she balled up the uniform and tossed it in through the open window. "If I don't hear from you by two tomorrow, I'm calling the cops."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Fine," I snarled, shaking my head. "You're so bossy."

"Yeah, well," she answered, leaning on the window frame, "it's what makes me a good friend." As she stood up, she pointed towards the paint. "Wipe down my prints, will you? I've got a prior." She winked at me comically and turned on a heel. "See you tomorrow, Grace!"

Shaking my head, I pulled the van away from the curb and headed towards the outskirts of Lawrence, towards the caves where I would put one of the most important people in my life to rest.


	11. Chapter 11

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.****

Chapter 11

Grace

Getting Emery off the gurney and onto the pyre I created was more difficult than I had anticipated. She was heavy by myself and I was emotional again, making it hard to see. I covered her body in leaves and underbrush, hiding her until tomorrow morning when I would set her alight, laying her to rest. I secretly hoped I wouldn't find any animals on her the next morning, but I knew it was a possibility.

I drove the van to a parking lot and left the keys after I wiped down the gurney and paint with a towel soaked in alcohol, including the keys and seats. As I walked back to the storage unit where I had stored my Toyota, I let myself cry, missing Emery, Dad, and Mom, but Serra left an open wound somewhere in my chest that seared in pain with every step I took. I was a mess by the time I got back to the car; sweaty and inconsolable.

Remarkably, I was able to get home unscathed and as I unlocked the front door to my house, my phone started to ring. I fumbled for it, thinking it might be Serra, but pulled it out to see Bobby Singer's number flash across the screen. Breathing deeply, I calmed my voice as much as I could to answer, knowing that if I didn't, he would just call back later.

"Hello?" I asked, letting the door close behind me.

"You done good, girl," he greeted, smiling. "APB was put out earlier on a missing van from Greendale. It was recovered this afternoon, nothing missing, no questions asked. Cops called it joyriding."

I nodded, trying to feel relief, but unable to feel much of anything. "That's good, Bobby. Thanks."

"I didn't do much, honey. You handled it on your own. Your Daddy would be proud."

"No, he wouldn't," I answered, tossing my purse down on the table. "He would have asked why I didn't empty the entire safe."

Bobby chuckled. "A missed opportunity," he said, sighing. "Well, then," he continued, "I'm proud of you. You're a pro at twenty."

From the other end of the phone, I could hear a male voice. "Hey, Bobby," he said, "Novella starts in cinco! You're gonna miss it."

"Keep your panties on," Bobby replied, fake anger seeping into his voice. "Besides, Daddy Dearest said he was coming in a bit—you've got a job to do."

"But the novella!"

Bobby laughed again and turned his attention back to me. "I swear, these boys. Setting up camp in my living room like they own the joint."

I tried to smile. The sound of the voices was comforting and another pang for my sister wound its way up my chest. "Thanks for everything, Bobby," I whispered. "I'm probably going to lay low for the next few months, so if you don't hear from me, don't worry."

"I get it, honey. You take it easy."

"Thanks." I flipped my phone closed and sat on the floor in the middle of the carpet of the living room, feeling the fibers between my fingertips. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me, forgetting about the pain for just a little while.


	12. Chapter 12

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.****

Chapter 12

Serra

I listened to my sister's voicemail over and over again throughout the day, wondering how the hell she pulled a con like that without me. I knew she and Natalie from her job at the diner were close, but I had no idea that she would trust her with something like that. It was the first time I felt guilty for leaving, and I fought the pull that I felt that would lead me back to Grace. Miguel, Santiago, and the rest of their cousins were in the process of planning another hunt. They caught wind of a wendigo in the bayous of Louisiana and had asked if I wanted to tag along. I had already agreed, knowing it was best if I stayed busy.

"Okay," Miguel was saying, "we can take it from the north and push it towards the bayou. Serra's a great shot and can get it from a distance if we need it."

"Wendigo are only killed with fire," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "You gotta hit it with a flame."

Miguel smiled. "I know. You're excessive. You could always use the grenade launcher we've got." He laughed, "Or, we could even set up some kind of trap…you know, light it and let it burn the house down."

I shrugged. "I've never used a grenade launcher before. Could be fun."

"That's my girl." I tried to hold my attention on the rest of the plans for the wendigo, but I couldn't stay focused on what anyone was saying. All I wanted to do was go back to Grace. I chanced a glance at Miguel and he made eye contact with me as I gestured with my head towards the door. Turning on a heel, I headed out the door of the squatter house and waited on the porch for him.

"You okay?" he asked as soon as he joined me.

"She's burning Emery tomorrow," I said, before I was ready. "I think I should go back, but I'm not ready to deal with her yet."

"So don't," Miguel replied, not missing a beat.

I turned away from him, not feeling like he knew how to help me. No one did, really, and I knew that this was something I had to decide on my own.

"Look, I'll be back in time for the wendigo hunt, but I need to be there for Em. I can't let it happen without being there."

"Do what you need to do, likan," Miguel said, touching my face tenderly.

Tilting my head away from his touch, I furrowed my eyebrows and asked, "What is that? Navajo?" Miguel nodded softly and bent to kiss me. "It means 'sweet'," he replied quietly.

"You are obviously thinking with the wrong head right now," I said, walking back into the house to gather my things. "I am hardly 'sweet'."

Leaning on the door frame, he shook his head and chuckled. "You'll figure it out eventually. Even you can be tamed," he said.

"Never," I said, smiling. "I'll catch up with you guys."

"I'll be waiting."

…

I drove all night to get back to Lawrence. The sun was rising as I watched from my place in a neighbor's driveway as Grace got into her car and drove away. The hardest part about this whole thing was not being spotted by my psychic-hunter-sister with a weird sixth sense for where I was. Honestly, I was surprised that she hadn't tracked me down herself yet, but at the same time, she knew I was with Miguel and Santiago, so she probably didn't feel the need to press the matter.

Watching her drive the opposite way of the caves, I considered following her, but I just ran the risk of being seen. Instead, I hopped on the highway, driving towards Emery's Wine Cellar (the caves that Em had picked out years ago and had dreams of digging out and adding shelves). It took the better part of thirty minutes to get there and I did my best to hide my car on the dirt road that led to the caves, far away from where Grace might see. I walked close to a half of a mile and came to the clearing where Grace had built a funeral pyre that was so traditional in our world. Hunters were never buried. I knew this from experience, and understood why Grace was so adamant about cremating Emery's body. I couldn't help it…I was too deep rooted in my opposition to back down now.

Grace was nowhere to be seen, and I allowed myself to get accustomed to watch Emery burn. My sister had done a good job covering her with leaves and underbrush to keep her body hidden from anyone who might wander by. This early in the morning, that shouldn't be an issue. I walked slowly out into the clearing and took a deep breath.

Even though I couldn't see her face, I could still picture the cold, blue stare that we had discovered when we walked into the kitchen that day. Her body was frozen in place: rigor mortis had already kicked in. We still had no idea how long she had been dead, but it had been long enough that she had hardened, but not so long that she smelled. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain that flooded through my mind, now that I was close.

I wandered towards the caves that Emery loved so much and smiled when I pictured backing her truck into one of the larger ones, knowing that we didn't want anyone else to drive it, ever. Grace had considered selling it, but we couldn't live to part with it, and had agreed to hide it in the deserted wilderness. I was too young to remember when Emery brought home that truck, but I knew as soon as I had seen it that I wanted one just like it: a 1970 Chevy C10, and someday, I would have one of my own. The entrance of the cave that hid her truck was filled with stones, and I could picture it there, covered with the tarp we found in the garage.

We had done our best to ensure it would last as long as possible, sitting there in the mud, though I don't know why. No one would ever drive it again. Now that I thought about it, Grace was right. We didn't need a cemetery to use as a memorial for Em. We had her truck to visit.

I took a deep, shaky breath and realized that I could hear Grace's tires come to a stop on the dirt road and two voices echoed through the brush. I dove for cover, listening hard.

 _Who the hell would she bring to Emery's funeral?_

I backed my way towards the trees and stayed as hidden as I could as I watched my sister and Natalie come into the clearing. Grace had her hair down, which was rare. She always complained about it being in her face, but now, it hung free down her back; the ends dusting her belt. She wore the boots I stole for her about two years ago for her birthday and one of Emery's old flannels. Even from where I crouched, I could see the glisten from the Saint Michael pendant that Emery used to wear. My sister was a walking tribute to our pseudo-mother.

Swallowing the emotion that crept back up my throat, I watched Natalie help remove the underbrush from the pyre that covered Emery's face. She was draped with a sheet, her dark hair surrounding her face. Grace froze in place, tilting her head towards me as if she could hear me. I didn't know how because I hadn't made a sound since they had walked into the clearing.

Natalie noticed my sister's movements as well and turned to ask, "What's the matter?"

Grace didn't answer right away, still with her head tilted, listening. "I don't know," she replied quietly, and I knew, right then and there, that Grace could sense me somehow.

I swore to myself and tried to slink back into the brush without rustling leaves. She was still for thirty more seconds or so and I held my breath, anticipating turning tail and diving for freedom without confrontation. I waited it out, silently begging Grace to let it go and leave me to mourn with them, just in hiding. Finally, Grace turned back towards Emery and arranged and rearranged her hair and the sheet.

"Do you want to say something?" Natalie asked quietly.

Grace shrugged. "I wouldn't know where to begin." Natalie nodded slowly and moved away from Grace and Emery, standing slightly in the shadows of the slowly rising sunlight shone through the brush and the trees and shined directly on Grace. She seemed to glow. Her hair, normally a dirty blonde, was alight with gold and red and the breeze made the waves dance as she tried to decide what to say.

"I miss you, Em," she began, her voice quiet, but strong. "I know Serra does too, but, you know how she is. It has to be on her terms." I stared at the ground, forcing myself to stay hidden. Grace took a breath and continued, "She's out there, somewhere, doing what she does best: protecting people. I wish you could have seen the woman that she'll become." Grace shook her head, making her hair glisten in the sun. "I'm sorry the natural disaster isn't here, but it fits, right? Your little renegade…She'll come around."

It was starting to sound like Grace was simply reassuring herself, speaking as if Emery was still by her side. Reaching into her jeans pocket, she pulled out a Zippo lighter and ignited it. "Thanks for always being there," she said. "Thanks for seeing me and who I was when no one else did."

Grace leaned forward and I fought with myself: do I watch or stare at the ground? I could hear the flames catch the dry leaves around Emery's body and with a swoosh, the rest of the pyre caught quickly. I could hear Grace step away, closer to Natalie and as I finally decided to stare at the fire, it was the first time that I felt calm about having no one else. I still had my sister. We just needed more time apart to really appreciate each other.

Closing my eyes, I whispered, "I love you Em," and backed away silently. I didn't know that Grace had turned immediately towards where I had been in the bushes. I didn't see her smile to herself, knowing that I had been within sight.

Jogging back to my car in the wilderness, I wiped my face and took a deep breath. I was happy that I went…it felt like I finally had some closure. Getting in and starting my car, I headed towards a gas station and mentally tallied the cash I had left. There wasn't much, but it would have to do until I could get back to Miguel and Santiago. They could help me out until I felt like it was time to go back to Grace.

I pulled my phone out of the glove box and saw that I had two missed calls: one from Miguel and one from Grace. She hadn't left a message, but it was a curiosity…the call was only three minutes old.

Shrugging it off, I held the phone to my ear to listen to Miguel's message. He was brief, his thoughts almost distracted as he spoke, "We're on our way down to Louisiana. Head to Houma. I'll call when we figure out a place to stay."

I had never heard of Houma, Louisiana, but the bottom line was that I was a soldier and completely able to follow orders. Taking a deep breath, I pulled into a gas station, filled up what I could of my tank, and headed back out onto the highway.

Passing the two fast food joints across the way from the gas station caused physical pain…I wanted a burger so badly, but I couldn't run the risk of running out of gas too far out from Houma. At least if I was within a hundred miles or so, Miguel could come and get me. It's not like I was even technically old enough to be driving, so I would never be able to ask someone to fill me up.

Glancing at the highway signs, I jumped on the southbound and turned the music up, drowning out the sound of my own thoughts, doing my best to move on with my life, away from Lawrence.


	13. Chapter 13

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged, unprotected sex and talks of abortion. Use protection, people! Reader beware.****

Chapter 13

Serra

I got into Houma around eight-thirty that evening, listening to Miguel's second message. They were set up at a motel on the other end of town and as I meandered my way through the old bayou town. I was starving. It had been about twenty-four hours since I had eaten anything and I dug through my center console for something, anything, to eat. At the bottom, I found a half-eaten bag of M&M's that were slightly passed their expiration date, but I ate them anyway.

As I pulled into the motel parking lot, I could see Miguel's Chevy S10 and his brother's Blazer. There were only two other cars that I recognized, so only a couple of the cousins were here to help with the wendigo. I parked in between Miguel and Santiago's trucks and called to see what room they were in.

"Hey," I greeted as Miguel answered the phone. "I'm here. What room are you in?"

"One-fourteen," he said, smiling. "You made good time." Looking down the hall towards the numbers of the rooms, I reached out to knock on the one labled 114.

"I drive fast," I answered as he opened the door, wrapping his arms around me and locking me into a kiss. "Hi to you, too," I said, giggling as he pulled me into the room.

Santiago was sitting at the table, a map with red dots spread all over it was in front of him, and he was pouring over a newspaper as he continued to make more red dots. "Hey, Serra," Santiago greeted without looking up. "How'd it go?"

I shrugged, staring at the floor. "Alright, I guess. Grace brought a friend."

"Did you talk to her?"

Shaking my head, I glanced at Miguel. "She didn't even see me," I murmured, still fighting with myself about the lack of contact I had with my sister.

Miguel smiled weakly at me, knowing that I wished I had made contact. "It's okay, likan," he whispered. "When you're ready."

I shook him off, walking towards Santiago and his maps. "What are we dealing with?"

"It's centering around this end of town," he said, accepting my change of subject without question. "We're thinking we watch the pattern for another day or two and come at it from the north and push it towards the bayou."

Nodding, I stared at the map in front of me. "There are too many people that way to go after it with a grenade launcher."

Miguel nodded and shrugged. "Next time," he said, grinning. "We're still gonna use your expertise on the long rifle though," he said, gesturing at the map. "If we're lucky, we'll be able to set up a trap and you can light the ignition with a shot or two."

"I'll only need one."

Glancing at me, he smiled coyly. "Cocky," he whispered.

I winked at him and shrugged out of my denim jacket, "There any food?" I asked, glancing around the room.

"There's a pizza in the fridge," Santiago said, pointing to the mini fridge in the corner of the room. I strode towards it without hesitating and ripped open the door. I could feel the boys staring at me as I stuffed a piece in my mouth, not caring what it looked like.

"When's the last time you ate, Serra?" Santiago asked quietly.

"Yesterday," I replied, my mouth full of pizza. "I used the rest of my cash to pay for the gas to get me back down here."

Miguel and Santiago exchanged glances. "We're probably gonna run a con tonight," Miguel was saying, "how are you at pool?"

"I'm only okay," I answered, swallowing the giant mouthful. "I'm better at just getting people to pay for stuff."

"Alright," Miguel said, grinning. "You be the distraction and me and Santi will run the pool con."

"The underage distraction?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Jailbait," Miguel chuckled, nodding. "Get those tits out and earn us some cash."

…

Santiago and the cousins headed out that afternoon to track the wendigo, but told Miguel and I to stay put, saying that there were too many cooks. I think Santi just knew how drained I was and was giving me an easy way out of having to work too hard before the hunt. Miguel had given me the rest of the pizza and watched with a smile on his face as I licked my fingers after finishing the last slice.

"Better?" he asked, leaning into the pillows that were propped up against the headboard behind him. I nodded, lying back the opposite way, staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah," I responded, closing my eyes. "It was weird seeing Grace without interacting with her."

"I'll bet," he said, getting more comfortable. "Why didn't you?"

Shrugging, I tilted my head, making a face after discovering a stain on bedspread and sitting back up. "I don't know," I sighed, "I don't think I was ready."

"What will make you ready?" he asked, toying with my toes.

"Time," came my immediate reply. "That's it, I think. I'm not even really mad at her anymore. She's just trying to do the right thing, and she works so hard, trying to keep us afloat."

"You just needed time to grieve?" I pursed my lips. "I guess." I leaned towards Miguel, feeling the heat from his body. "We're just such different people."

"Obviously," he replied, grinning.

"She called me a 'natural disaster'," I said, smiling at the memory. "Em used to refer to me as 'her little renegade'."

Miguel chuckled lightly, "Both of those are accurate," he agreed, touching my face. "You're unpredictable in the best kind of way."

I moved so that I was straddling his waist, leaning towards him, teasing. I could feel his excitement through his jeans, knowing that I was so close. He made a face at me, lifting a single eyebrow, and a sly grin crept its way across his face. I moved closer still, getting my face than much closer to his neck and I breathed slowly, kissing his ear and dusting his neck with my tongue. His breath came quickly and his heart rate increased exponentially. I adjusted on his lap and my hands moved down his chest and towards the bottom of his shirt.

Miguel did his best to stay still, allowing me to do what I pleased. I pulled his shirt off, ruffling his hair and then tugged my own tank off, allowing my hair to spill around my shoulders. He resisted reaching for my chest, but failed miserably. He moved forward to kiss me and unclasped my bra, throwing it across the room.

I knew I was young; too young to be this intimate with anyone. Any normal fifteen year old would be nervous and clammy, claiming her undying love, and hoping that somehow, she would be good enough. She would hope against hope that she wouldn't end up being labeled the town whore, but here I was, having sex on a regular basis, with a boy that I didn't love. I cared about Miguel, sure, but I knew that if the situation was normal, that if I didn't run away from home, I wouldn't be having sex at all.

From the beginning, Grace had been adamant that there were other ways of convincing people to feed and shelter us. She had given herself away too young, and she had tried to learn from her mistakes, guarding me from as much as she could. Guilt spread its way through my chest as I rocked back onto Miguel. I gasped: things were still a bit tender when we started, but it didn't take long to find a rhythm.

I closed my eyes as I kissed him, secretly wishing that I could just go home, no questions asked, but I had to hold out a bit longer. Why, I had no idea, but I knew if I went home now, there would be some sort of unspoken Grace victory. My stubbornness couldn't allow that to happen. I went through the motions, grabbing for Miguel's shoulders and closing my eyes as he kissed my neck. It felt good, better than usual, but my heart wasn't in it. I wasn't in love with the boy I straddled and I knew that I never would be.

He came, hard, and gripped my shoulders and pulled me down as hard as he could. It felt different this time and I gasped as I came unexpectedly right after him. As I collapsed next to him, breathing hard, I realized with a sinking feeling that we hadn't used a condom. "Oh, shit," I whispered, covering my face with my hands.

Miguel was still out of breath. "What's the matter?"

"We didn't use anything."

Sitting up quickly, Miguel whipped his head towards me, making his hair swing the opposite way. "What? Serra, holy fuck!" I shut my eyes, squeezing them closed. Grace would never forgive me if I came home pregnant. Miguel was up and pacing around the room, completely nude. "What the actual fuck, Serra? Why did you do that?"

"I forgot, Miguel, Jesus," I moaned, still rubbing my face. "You could take some responsibility here."

"It's a little difficult when you are on top of me, bare-chested, Serendipity," he replied, shaking his head. "I thought you had picked up pills from Planned Parenthood or something."

"Don't spin this to be completely my fault," I said, anger rising in my voice. I held up my hands.

"Stop, just stop," I said, taking a deep breath. "We'll figure this out."

"What are we going to figure out, Serra? We need to go get the morning after pill, like right now," he said, pulling on pants. He stared up at me, "Right now, Serra. Seriously." I stood, shakily pulling on my bra and flannel then my jeans and boots. I couldn't believe how badly I fucked this up.

We climbed into Miguel's S10 and he peeled out of the driveway of the motel, heading into town. We drove in silence for about twenty minutes and I did what I could to stay calm. Miguel had called information, looking for a Planned Parenthood, and finally, we found it, tucked in between a bank and a Carl's Jr. We hadn't spoken since the motel room and Miguel turned to me, much calmer than he had been when we left, and sighed.

"Look," he said slowly, "I'm sorry I flipped out on you, but this is the one thing that Santi would kill me over. We're hunters, Sere, there's no room for mistakes."

I sniffed involuntarily. "I know, Miguel, I'm not stupid." I looked away and stared at the building in front of us. "Grace would kill me."

"So we agree?" Nodding, I reached for the door handle and walked towards the building. I intended on going alone, but Miguel's door slammed shut and he was following me up the steps. He took my hand and pulled the door open for me. I took a deep breath and took my first steps into full-blown adulthood.


	14. Chapter 14

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.****

Chapter 14

Grace

The afternoon after we cremated Emery passed slowly. I wandered around the house, cleaning randomly and trying not to think about how my sister had stayed hidden from me.

That night, I had laid in her bed, soaking in her smell, trying my best to know she would come home when she felt like she had "won" whatever fight she had in her head. That's just how Serra was. When we fought as kids, she would close herself into her room, ignoring me until she felt like she froze me out long enough to feel victorious over me. It was a routine that I was used to, though I would never understand it.

I woke the next morning to a vivid dream about Serendipity calling my name and worrying about disappointing me. I had no idea what it meant or if it was a vision, but Miguel was there as well, and they were safe, which is all that mattered to me.

As I got up and got ready for work, I kept feeling like I could hear her say my name. Eventually, I walked downstairs and poured myself a cup of coffee and held my phone in my hands, trying to decide if I should call her again. I dialed without really thinking about it and listened as her phone rang repeatedly, eventually going to voicemail. Pressing my lips together, I decided against leaving a voicemail, so I let my phone snap shut and set it back on the countertop.

I sipped my coffee, staring at my phone and about dropped my mug when I saw Serra's number flash across my screen. I set my mug down and ripped my phone open, but she hung up before I had a chance to greet her. I held the open phone in my hand, wondering if she would call back, but the screen remained dark. Serra lost her nerve.

I smiled to myself as I set the phone back down on the counter. She was getting closer to coming home.


	15. Chapter 15

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged, unprotected sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.****

Chapter 15

Serra

The days after the Planned Parenthood excursion, I was sullen and moody, snapping at Miguel (and any of the boys) for really no reason. I was overly paranoid and wanted any excuse to shoot something. We had narrowed down the wendigo to a cabin in a mangrove thicket that was only accessible by four-wheel-drive and decided to attack that evening.

Miguel and Santiago's cousins owned an old Ford four by four and decided that it was the best way for me to get my shots off from the long rifle while still away from most of the action. They set up a series of fuses that led to the cabin where the wendigo had been seen on multiple occasions and surrounded it by gasoline. It was a perfect set up; as long as the wendigo was inside the cabin, I could shoot the fuse, igniting the gasoline and creating an inescapable wall where the boys would be able to light the wendigo on fire, if the flames from the gasoline hadn't killed it already.

It had taken days for the set up, but finally, we were there, waiting on the dirt road with Miguel at the wheel of the old Ford and the rest of the family surrounding the cabin.

"It's in there," Santiago's voice came over the walkie-talkie mic. "We saw it last night when we laid the last of the fuse."

"Ten-four," Miguel said. "She's ready, just tell us when."

I adjusted my position on the floor of the bed of the truck. The tailgate was down and I was lined up with the fuse closest to my position, about sixty yards away. I had checked and recalibrated the sight on the Winchester long rifle that I held, knowing that this would be the longest shot I had made on a hunt before. There was no doubt in my mind that I could make the shot, but under pressure, I could still feel my nerves on end.

"Whenever she's ready, light it up," Santiago's voice said. "We're ready."

Miguel turned towards me and spoke through the back window. "Anytime, Sere," he said quietly.

Nodding, I took a deep breath. I lined up my aim with the fuse that was tucked into the dirt and as I released my breath slowly, I squeezed the trigger. The affect was immediate. I rested the rifle on the sheet metal of the truck and watched as the fuse lit the line of gasoline around the cabin. Miguel watched in the mirror, smiling and nodding his approval.

"Nice shot, Lucky," he said, his voice quiet. As the flames circled around the cabin, my attention was caught by movement in the moss that hung from the mangroves around us. I lifted my head, following the movement and saw the wendigo staring back at me; its soulless eyes empty as it tilted its head at me.

"Oh, shit," I said, sitting up on my knees and aiming the rifle at the wendigo.

"What?" I heard Miguel from inside the cab. "What's the matter?"

"It's in the tree!" I answered, pointing with the rifle. I knew I wouldn't cause much damage with the .300 caliber bullets, but I still unloaded four as fast as I was able to.

Miguel had started the truck and was moving away from the tree as he shouted into the walkie, "Santi, it's in the trees!"

I sat back in the bed of the truck, trying not to get thrown while holding the rifle. I pressed my back up against the cab and aimed again, attempting to simply knock the wendigo out of the tree and into the flames that we had created with the gasoline and fuses. It screamed in pain as I fired round after round, but it held on, still perched in the tree.

I could hear Santiago and the rest of the cousins running towards us. "Serra!" Santiago's voice rang out. "Molotov!"

I understood his meaning immediately. He lit the fuse and I turned my head away from the tree, anticipating the explosion from the Molotov cocktail. Nothing happened. I turned and stared as Miguel continued to drive away and my jaw dropped open as I watched the wendigo catch the Molotov and stare at it, extinguishing the flame as it clung to the branches.

"Asshole," I muttered, lining up my last shot. I breathed out slowly, silently begging the truck to be as still as possible as I fired. The tree exploded into flames as my bullet pierced the side of the Molotov cocktail, igniting it once more. I could hear the scream from the wendigo as it burned.

Miguel stopped the truck as safe distance away and I busied myself with reloading. Santiago approached the truck, ready to light a second Molotov, but hesitated, grinning. "Nice shot, little one," he said, glancing at me.

"Thanks," I said, staring at the burning tree.


	16. Chapter 16

****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.****

Chapter 16

Serra

We celebrated the hunt with blackened chicken and rice at a bar that night. The boys passed around beers and I struggled to smile and celebrate with them. Miguel sat down next to me as Santiago poured another round. He glanced my way and took a breath.

"You are a damn good shot," he said, taking a piece of chicken off my plate.

"Yeah," I said, "thanks."

"How'd you get so good?"

Shaking my head, I smiled lightly at the memory. "I shot my sister," I started, remembering the ricochet that had been embedded into her hip during a firefight with our first interaction with demons, right after Grace had graduated high school. "I didn't want to do that again, so I practiced."

Miguel laughed, licking his fingers. "You miss her." I nodded, avoiding his gaze. "So go home, Lucky," he said quietly.

Staring at my plate of unfinished food, I took a deep breath and shook my head. "I haven't started yet," I whispered, still unwilling to look at him. I felt Miguel's mood shift and he turned to stare at me.

"How late are you?"

"Three days," I replied, watching the cousins eat and laugh, surrounding us at the table. He set the piece of chicken back down on my plate and sighed, rubbing his face.

"How long have you been gone?"

"Almost two weeks."

We were silent, then, trying not to look at each other. We hadn't slept together since our visit to Planned Parenthood, almost a week ago, and I felt sick to my stomach every time I considered the fact that I could be pregnant. Without another word, Miguel stood from the chair next to me and walked towards the pool table in the center of the room. Santiago watched our interaction from the bar and as soon as Miguel was out of earshot, he stood and made his way over to me. He took the piece of chicken that Miguel had set on the edge of my plate and chewed on it as he spoke, "How much cash do you have?"

"I don't," I answered, turning to stare at him. "Why?"

"Is that what's holding you here with us?" I shrugged, not committal. Santi reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He threw a stack of twenties on the table next to me and I glanced up at him, surprised.

"Here," he said, gesturing to the stack of cash. "I don't want you to be stuck with us just because you can't afford to go home." Santiago smiled, a toothpick hanging out from his lips. "You're an equal, not a prisoner."

Shaking my head, I pushed the cash away. "Forget it, Santi," I said quietly. "You don't owe me anything."

"Sure we do," he replied. "You took out a wendigo with a long rifle from the bed of a moving truck."

"You're the one that used the Molotov," I countered, raising my eyebrows.

"You're the one that blew it up," he finished, pushing the money back towards me. "Come on, Lucky. Take it and go back to Grace. You miss her."

"I can't yet." Santiago sighed and stared at me. "Why? What's the point of holding onto an argument that is so fucking old?"

"I might be pregnant," I whispered, the words coming out before I was ready. "I can't go home until I know for sure."

Santiago's mouth dropped open. "Are you stupid, Serra?"

"Yes," I said, my eyes filling with tears, "I'm an idiot. I know. I've already been through all of this with Miguel." I wiped my face and took a breath, getting my voice back. "We went to Planned Parenthood and got a morning-after set up. I took them all."

Santiago leaned back in his chair, his hands running through his hair. "How long until you know?"

"I should have started three days ago," I said, licking my lips and staring at the plate in front of me. Santiago looked away from me and towards Miguel, who was shooting pool with one of his older cousins.

"Does he know?"

I nodded.

"Alright," Santi whispered, regaining control. "Okay, it'll be okay." He spoke mostly to himself and shook his head. "I can't believe it." He sighed and leaned forward, leaning his head on the table. "Well, I can," he continued from his position, "but I can't believe it."

I remained quiet. I couldn't believe it either: the first boy I fuck…and now I would end up having his kid. It's not exactly how I pictured having my life turn out.

I stood without saying anything and headed towards the door. The room was claustrophobic and I needed air. As soon as the door swung closed behind me, I leaned on the hood of Miguel's S10 and begged to the darkness, "Please, please, please." Walking around the truck, I pulled down the tailgate and sat, staring up into the sky. "Please, please, please start." I begged. "I'll never ask for anything ever again. Ever."

"It's a little too late to pray, don't you think?" I turned to see Miguel leaning on the door of his truck. Turning back towards the parking lot, I tried to smile.

"Desperate times," I began. He walked over to me and sat on the tailgate.

"You told Santi."

"It just kind of fell out of my mouth," I said quietly. "When an older sibling asks, apparently I have no control."

"Awesome," he said quietly, staring up at the stars. We were silent for a few minutes and I could tell he wanted to say something, but I had no idea what it could be.

"What, Miguel?"

"We could make it work," he said quietly, staring at the stars. "My mom was only eighteen when she had Santiago."

"That's three years different," I answered, shaking my head.

He looked at his hands. "She wasn't raised a hunter. My dad was. You were. You would know what to do." He glanced at me. "We would know what to do."

"We're not having a baby together, Miguel." We were silent again and I shifted my position on the tailgate. As I sighed, I knew there was nothing else we had to say to each other and I took his hand and smiled up at Miguel. "It's been fun," I said, "but either way, I think this is the end of the line."

Miguel sighed and nodded. "I knew it was," he replied, squeezing my hand. "It would take an act of God and the heavens for you to settle down."

I smiled at him and nodded. "I'm fifteen, Miguel. Even if it was with you, there's no settling down yet." He chuckled and opened my hand, pressing the roll of cash into my palm. "Take it," he said, closing my fingers around the cash. "Do what you need to do and go home to your sister."

Taking a deep breath, he leaned in to kiss me once more. He stood from the tailgate and walked away, leaving me alone in the darkness. I folded the cash and stuffed it into my pocket. Standing from the tailgate, I headed towards the edge of the parking lot and back to our motel room. I let myself in, gathered my things, and loaded everything into the trunk of my car.

I stopped to get gas on my way out of town and as I jogged down the two steps of the mini-mart, I smiled to myself, feeling the first cramp of my period clinch my lower back. Rerouting to the bathroom, I laughed out loud, allowing tears of pure joy to flood my eyes. I wasn't pregnant. After I filled my tank completely, I walked through the mini-mart, grabbing beef jerky, a couple of candy bars, sunflower seeds and a case of water.

I dumped it all into my car, started the engine, and headed for home.


	17. Chapter 17

Thank you so much for hanging on, everyone! This wraps up "Aftershock."

 ****This story takes place DIRECTLY after my first story: Alone. It is heavy-handed and I have rated this story M. Trigger warning: heavy talks of suicide, depression, and the struggle to keep fighting. Please take this into account when reading. Also rated M for under-aged sex and talks of abortion. Reader beware.****

Chapter 17

Grace

I heard her keys in the door at five thirty-six that morning and waited silently as she climbed the steps to the second floor. Smiling to myself as she paused in the hall, I counted the days she had been gone. Today was day thirteen. Lucky had finally come home.

I feigned sleep as I heard my door creak open, still facing the window of my room. Listening hard, I could tell that she was watching me. She padded out of my room once more and I could hear her belt buckle as she stripped out of her clothes, leaving a trail behind her, I was sure. She returned to my room moments later in a fresh tee shirt and pajama pants and crawled slowly into bed with me.

As soon as she made physical contact with me, her memories began to wash through my subconscious: the last thirteen days playing through my mind. I saw Miguel's face smiling as he kissed her. I saw her become a warrior during the vampire hunt and the wendigo hunt. I saw her crouch in the bushes as she watched me ignite the funeral pyre where we laid Emery to rest.

I tried to ignore the lovemaking sessions that she was much too young for. I caught a glimpse of her terror as they walked through the doors of a Planned Parenthood building and I watched with fear in my heart as she interacted with Santiago at a bar. Finally, I watched her mood shift to joy as she sat in the bathroom at a gas station, finally knowing for certain that she wasn't pregnant.

In thirteen days, my baby sister wasn't a baby anymore. As the memories ended, I was able to listen to Serra as she wrapped her arms around my body, pulling herself as close as she could, just like when we were younger. She was asleep in seconds; her breath warmed my hair each time she sighed. Relief spread through me, knowing she was finally home and safe with me. We could finally heal together and suddenly; I didn't care what she had done or whom she had been with. We were back under the same roof and we would figure out how to survive.

I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the sun as it tried to peek through my curtains. As long as she was sleeping, I wouldn't move. I would do everything I could to keep Serra as close to me as possible. We would never have to suffer alone again.


End file.
